


Take, Give

by Allegory



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, NSFW, NSFW Art, Post Season 3, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Sex, Sex on a Beach, Smut, Trans Will Graham, fancy prose, they in cuba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-04 19:12:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allegory/pseuds/Allegory
Summary: They lied, gasping in the aftermath of lust, hands clasped in each other’s. Dante’s inferno awaited them. And they were happy to burn.





	1. Chapter 1

Will had not seen him until then.

Had not seen the beauty and the cold twist of irony—Hannibal Lecter. Jagged black horns, a noose around his neck.

“Will.”

“I’m here.”

They saw each other bathed in moonlight, blood having seeped away with saltwater. Hannibal ran his hand down the scars carved across his chest, the vicious wound across his abdomen that had broken something in him. And from the pieces, Will Graham reborn.

It was not a night for words. Will gave Hannibal what he wanted. Let him touch and explore, indulge in the tactile senses of the world. Intimacy. Such strange ways of expressing love, of giving and taking. It would be easy tonight. Carnal, two hunters kissing and biting in places meant to be kissed, bitten.

There was a small, almost courteous pause from Hannibal when he unzipped Will’s pants with his teeth. A secret unspoken.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t know,” Will said.

From Hannibal, that half, lazy quirk of his lips. “I would never.”

Hannibal rose over him, fingers pressing into the wet heat between his groins. He felt the lust within him rise like the waves lapping up to shore and reached forward, pressing Hannibal’s chest against his own.

The moon bore witness to them, its white heat illuminating their skin. Hannibal took him and he let himself be taken, the foreign sensation of his shaft inside him, pleasure mounting with each thrust. He heard himself moan as Hannibal licked his neck the way he would taste a cutlet of meat, savoring in his flavor. Sand abraded his back as they kissed and kissed and kissed, years of confusion and disappointment finally converging into what they were. And if the world were to erode then, the two of them moored by the shore of the blackened waters, they would be content.

 

Here Will allowed himself to be filled by the different nature of Hannibal’s love.

Here they lied, gasping in the aftermath of lust, hands clasped in each other’s. Dante’s inferno awaited them. And they were happy to burn.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no longer fancy prose because this is now multi chaptered? and they're in cuba?? havana u-na-na lmao

The plunge. Hundreds of meters plummeting through the air with blood-slick hands, their bodies tangled together. It happened too quickly; ended too soon.

Will was sure Hannibal took the brunt of the fall.

It struck him as an errant move on Hannibal's part. But normalcy was a complicated idea when it came to him, and Will took it in stride. He had the water to worry about. Ice cold fury slithering in his veins—the waters were so cold he felt the heat of his blood leaving him. His fingers grew numb. _He’s gone,_ Will thought. _I've lost him._ How brilliant it was, to be free from Hannibal, and how painful at the same time.

Hannibal hadn’t let go. Not after Will lost his consciousness, not after he stirred and fell off again immediately after.

He dragged them both into a rocky cavern to take refuge. When Will woke again, his wounds had been washed and staunched. He could remember only snippets of time between sleep and consciousness, the taste of Hannibal’s tongue in his mouth. The days slipped by until he regained the energy to move around. He found Hannibal fiddling cluelessly with a motor boat and realized what meat Hannibal had been putting in his mouth recently.

They sailed, Will at the helm, Hannibal by his side. He had never felt safer.

*

“Was it good for you too?”

Will looked up from the sand to regard him. There was a luminance to his features that he hadn’t seen for a while. Sight of the gaping shore and the unabashed taste of ocean salt could do that after three years of imprisonment.

“It was all right,” Will said. “I’m kind of sore.”

“I apologize.”

“You should.”

A small smile threatened to play at Will's lips. He wanted to nudge him with his elbow—be playful in the way dogs nuzzled each other. He managed to stop himself.

Silence fell over them.

The two men found their way to a small town overlooking the ocean, barricaded by palm trees and the scent of something foreign. Will froze by the picket fence of someone’s small house. His eyes raked over the strange plants growing in the backyard.

“Shit.”

Hannibal looked over his shoulder at his own soles, coated in dirt. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

“You’re not panicking,” he could hear the breathless tone of his own voice. “How are you not panicking? We—we’re not in America."

“No,” Hannibal said. “We’re not.”

“You planned for this?”

Hannibal took Will's face in his hands. “Ouch,” he hissed. Hannibal's thumb had dug into the vicious wound on his cheek. At some point it had become numb. He ought to be concerned, about that and the bullet in Hannibal’s stomach. Hannibal had wrapped himself up in waterlogged bandages and staunched the bleeding. Still. He was paling.

Instead Will pushed his hand away. Hannibal let go without any resistance.

“I did the best with what I had, Will.”

“And what _I_ had. You lied to me—again.”

Hannibal remained silent for a moment, so that Will could fully understand his own words and how utterly ridiculous they were. It wasn’t a lie. Somehow Will had presumed they were heading back. He missed Winston and the others. Sorely.

Will strode forward and grumbled under his breath, “Remind me never to give you the map to anything.”

“Ah. But you’ve given me the map to everything.”

Will sighed through his teeth.

The low whistling sound was followed by quiet chuckles on Hannibal’s part. “I think you knew all along,” he said, racing to catch up with him. “That I was leading you astray. And that’s what you’re attracted to, isn’t it? My spontaneity.”

“You’re not spontaneous, doctor. Not in the natural sense of the word.”

“We’re not natural.”

“We’re as natural as people get. The Selfish Gene exemplified.”

“You’ve learned.”

“Enough.”

They walked out onto a small road between the two thatched houses. No cars. A mountain loomed in the distance, brocaded in green and gray haze. It looked as if the sky was smoking, and raining down from the pitch blackness were vestiges of tar and tobacco. Cuba. They were in goddamned Cuba.

*

They found an unoccupied cabin in a tourist area nearby. The place didn't have electricity or water, as Will had anticipated, but it would provide shelter for the night and they could clean up their tracks easily. He set about checking the drawers, hoping to find some supplies that could be of use. The furniture turned up nothing but cobwebs and dust that made his wounds itch.

He heard his own stomach growl beneath the roaring of the ocean.  He returned to the living room, where Hannibal had been sitting since they arrived,and paused. Without the lights, all that illuminated Hannibal’s face was the faint white glow of the moon through a window. His lips were pursed, though the rest of his expression remained unperturbed. It was an expression Will had gotten to know all too well.

“No. You’re not killing the locals.”

“I’m not.” Hannibal took his hand off his stomach and showed Will a palm soaked in blood as black as ink. Will felt his stomach drop. “You are.”

Hannibal laughed and waved him off right after. _The_ _devil doesn’t expect to find his equal—not in his wickedness, at least._ The ease with which Hannibal accomplished his murders astounded him. A gasping plea, the sympathetic features of a young bellman—flashes of a wide open mouth, blue cheeks—and they had peso, a place to shower, and mangoes.

“Thirty minutes,” Hannibal said as he turned the tap and water rained down on them.

Each drop felt like the sting of a meteorite on Will’s skin. He shuffled to the edge of the bathtub, too cold and weak to comprehend. For the first time he realized just how frail he’d gotten over the weeks. Hannibal, too. It didn’t suit the man to look so thinned out. He looked older. More human.

Hannibal turned off the tap. He stepped across the tub and placed a hand on Will’s cheek, pushing the hair out of his eyes. He knelt and unbuttoned Will’s shirt, carefully prying the fabric off his tanned skin.

“Twenty seven minutes,” Hannibal murmured. He locked gazes with Will for a moment before lowering his head, until his nose was nuzzled in between Will's thighs, and he felt the stirrings of lust draw his attention.

He realized he’d been shaking. Why?

For a brief moment, Will thought it was going somewhere—that Hannibal would do…something, so Will could have an excuse to put his hands around the man’s throat. But Hannibal pulled away, and in his irritation Will stopped trembling.

“You’re a better _fisherman_ than I am,” he remarked bitterly.

Hannibal laughed. He folded Will’s clothes, set them away, and unbuttoned his own. “I prefer hunting. Eat.” Hannibal passed a tray of sliced mangoes (blood-splattered nectar) to him. “It’s vegetarian. More or less.”

“More or less,” Will murmured, and allowed himself to indulge in the saccharine taste of too ripe fruit.

Hannibal washed his back. Will had been wearing his bandages for too long—they stuck to his skin and stung when Hannibal peeled them off. He kissed Will’s cheek before stitching his skin together. Then he touched the cut across his temple, and the other wounds on his chest. It was all in sadistic fashion. Affection against violence, the culmination of Hannibal’s…obscenity: a collection of scars on Will Graham’s flesh.

Will fed him the fruit. Even as a runaway, there was an impeccable measure to the slices, prepared by a man too blinded by taste and eloquence to care for much else. He felt his blood thudding in his ears as Hannibal’s teeth scrapped against his fingers. They made eye contact, and Will registered the hundreds of burst capillaries in Hannibal's eyes. He felt the illusory heat of antlers breaking out of Hannibal's scalp and shuddered.

“Stop looking at me like that."

Hannibal tilted his head fractionally. “Like what?”

“Like I’m at your dinner table.”

Hannibal smiled.

They sat pressed against each other for a time. In Hannibal’s arms, Will felt like he was suspended in air, too taken by the surreal nature of it all. Those gentle arms wrapped around him were capable of snapping his neck within the next second. He envisioned it, the silence before the storm, the catastrophe in its wake. And Hannibal at the center of it all, humming the Goldberg Variation under his breath.

Will had needed this all his life.

**Author's Note:**

> i really love trans will smut if ur a NSFW writer pls write it and send it to me i need it ive read all of it i THIRST FOR MORE
> 
> also my hannibal art @ https://enzelx.tumblr.com/ !! :)


End file.
